Streaks of Crimson
by dantesdarkqueen
Summary: Pain is familiar to us all. But to some, it is a weakness that cannot be shown. When the anguish in her heart becomes too much to bear, how does Akalara cope? Graphic, rated for self-inflicted wounds. Companion piece AmazonTurk's "Operation Assasination"


**Summary: **Pain is familiar to us all. But to some, it is a weakness that cannot be shown. When the anguish in her heart becomes too much to bear, how does Akalara cope?

**Disclaimer: **Ak's mine. Az is mine. All OCs belong to their respective owners. All canon characters are the property of Square Enix.

**Queen's Quornor: **The latest update of "Operation:Assassination" got me thinking. I've been showing more facets of Akalara's character lately, but there's one I haven't made exactly clear thus far. I tried to put it in "A Mother's Love," but took it out at the last moment because I thought it was a little too shocking for the fic. I think it's time I show how difficult it can be, staying strong all the time without a proper outlet... At least in Akalara's case. This oneshot operates under the assumption that Ak and Rev did not spend the night together after they made up on New Year's Eve, since Azrael was not spending the night anywhere and Akalara is not in possession of a mastered Barrier materia. No idea what kind of materia Revan has, but I assume he doesn't have one either.

Streaks of Crimson

Steam wafted throughout the room, gracefully curling in and around itself endlessly, growing thicker and thicker as the minutes ticked by. Water poured from the showerhead in scalding streams, splashing down upon the soaked green hair directly beneath it and slicking down the nude body beneath the hair, but no motion came from the woman standing in the tub. Her mind was leagues away from her body, where pain from the overheated water could not reach her.

What was her body's pain, compared to the agony in her heart?

Akalara hadn't gone into work today. Nor had she gone yesterday, or even the day before. She had been calling in sick, unable to go through the charade she had maintained any longer. The day after she had heard the voicemail on Revan's cell, she had gone into work determined not to let him or Niki see how badly she was hurting. She never let anybody see her weakness, her pain, before. Why should this be any different?

Her mask of indifference had cracked only an hour later, when she had walked past Torr and Revan's office and heard Niki chattering to them like an old friend, or an annoying little sister. She could remember almost staggering from the pain that suddenly erupted from her heart, clenched her gut and twisted her stomach.

Akalara had spent the rest of the day working in the company records room, as far away from her coworkers - from _them_ - as she could get.

Two more days of hiding somewhere in the building had passed before she realized she just couldn't do it anymore. It hurt too much, being in the same building with the man she loved and the woman who had stolen him from her. She wasn't strong enough, to pretend everything was okay and hide the fact that she was falling apart inside.

So for the past three workdays, she had been calling Tseng with some bullshit excuse to avoid going into work. Most of her time was spent holed up in her room, where nobody would disturb her. Her answering machine and voicemail were full of calls from her coworkers and friends, all wondering where she was and why she wasn't at work, why she hadn't shown up at any of the usual bars or clubs this weekend. Nobody could get into her apartment right now, since she had jammed the handprint scanners (and they had tried. She had listened to practically everyone she knew pounding on her door, calling her name, and generally trying to get inside at some point over the past few days). Azrael was staying with Cloud and Tifa right now; Akalara had asked them to take care of him for her until she sorted out some 'personal issues'.

She couldn't bear it if her son saw her like this. It was bad enough that he had discovered her crying last Monday night; she wouldn't let him realize she wasn't as strong as she seemed.

Over the noise of the shower, she heard the phone ringing. But still she did not move. After the fourth ring, the answering machine picked up.

_Ak, it's me. _Revan's voice. _Where are you, baby? Please, pick up. I have to talk to you. _

Her heart clenched. Did he want to tell her he was leaving her for Niki? That she was a worthless piece of street-trash and not even close to the clinically-insane woman's league in terms of womanhood? That she was a lousy lay and he had only stayed with her because he felt sorry for her? That she was the worst mother he had ever seen in his life? That Sephiroth had had the right idea, falling beneath Jenova's control and dying rather than spending his life with her?

Akalara choked on a sob, feeling her eyes burning. She almost hoped he would say those things to her. They were the truth, after all.

She wouldn't return the call. She just didn't have the strength.

Unconsciously, her long nails had began tracing over her left arm, lightly scraping the heat-reddened surface.

She was a slum-bitch. A whore of the worst kind.

The nails increased their pressure, digging into the skin a little.

A pretender. A disgrace to the Turks.

Deeper now, slicing into her flesh.

She abandoned her son. She brought pain and misery to everyone she cared about.

Faster, the nails moving in a blur.

Reno cared nothing for her. Revan pitied her. Sephiroth had died to get away from her.

Hot water splashed against her abused arm, but she felt nothing.

She was a bitch, just like everybody said. The Green Bitch. The jealous, pathetic little dog, barking at everybody around her and obediantly following the heels of her betters no matter what was said or done to her.

The nails dug into her arm.

She was...

Flesh was ripped away, torn apart by her sharp nails.

_Worthless. _

A sting of pain broke Akalara's trance, and she looked down at her left arm with dull, dead eyes. The flesh was scrawled with thin red trails, the mark of her nails crisscrossing the once-pristine surface. Halfway up the forearm were four long furrows, cleaving the collection of scratches in twain. Blood oozed from the gouges in slow rivulets, mixing with the water from the showerhead and falling from her body to swirl down the drain.

Her arm hurt badly, the hot water aggravating the torn and abused flesh to the point that a simple scratch burned like hellfire. But Akalara felt... _better._

She had never understood why people hurt themselves before. Cutting had been beyond her, though she knew logically why they were doing it. Cutting and scratching had been pretty common in her old gang, but she had never indulged in it herself. She had seen how much blood some of those guys and girls could lose. In an environment that demanded she remain strong, she hadn't seen the point in making herself physically weaker just to aleviate stress.

Now she did.

Crossing her arms behind her back, she threw her head back in an agonized gasp as her nails quickly tore across her flesh, leaving livid red marks on the smooth skin. And that was only the beginning. In relatively short order, her entire torso, neck, and arms were lined with bright red scratches, and the cleansing pain given by their mixing with the water forced her to lean against the tiled wall just so she could stand up.

But that wasn't enough for her.

Without thinking, Akalara reached for her razor and, baring her thigh to the merciless touch of the shower, drew the blade slowly along her skin, watching the blood slip down the limb and into the tub.

With every new cut, she felt a little more of her anguish drain away until, at last, she was at peace.

By the time she turned off the shower and reached for a towel, she had shallow, bloody cuts on her thighs, lower stomach, and sides. Easily hidden beneath her uniform and civillian clothing.

Invisible to the naked eye, just like her inner vulnerability.

Cool cranberry eyes flicked to the gouges on her arm. Those would have to be healed, unlike the others. She couldn't hide them in her regular clothes.

A potion was retrieved from her medicine cabinet and applied to her left arm. Within a minute, her arm had been restored to its milky, untouched state. But the remainder of her self-inflicted wounds were left exactly as they were. Akalara taped medical gauze to them to staunch the bleeding, but other than that she did nothing to them.

Neither Reno nor Revan would touch her again. She was the only person who would ever see the scars they would leave behind. What was the point of healing them?

As she dressed, the phone rang again. Just like all the others, she ignored it and left the room, closing the door behind her.

When the answering machine picked up, it recorded a message from somebody new. Not Revan, not Reno, not Kandi or Brit. Not even Nilto or Tifa or Tseng. This was a deep, smooth voice from her past, her personal guardian angel.

_You're not worthless, Ak. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry _he _hurt you. Just hold on a little longer. Things will get better, I promise. _

_Don't stop fighting now, Ak. Don't give in. You don't have a place here yet. _


End file.
